


We Will Conquer This World

by viaorel



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Canon Divergence, Celestino the Italian cock block, Humor, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Some real talk in the middle, The pole dancing thing goes public, Yuuri's post-drunk amnesia gets him places
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 12:24:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9071566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viaorel/pseuds/viaorel
Summary: After one too many at the banquet, Yuuri Katsuki wakes up in his hotel room with a hangover, a crushing headache and… a 5000-ruble note in his underwear.





	

The first thing that welcomed him into the morning was the unmistakable, the one and only post-champagne-headache. The desperate thirstiness and the unpleasant, foreign feeling of his dry tongue  inside his mouth ensued.

Then there was the hair. Gelled and styled for the banquet yesterday, it now resembled an old hermit’s beard that has never seen a brush or a bath, and baby rats might have been living in it too at some point. By the sheer feeling of it, Yuuri could assess the full extent of the horror that was now residing on top of his head, and opted against touching the beast just yet.

The hair was not important, and neither was the hangover that hit him right in the stomach as soon as he moved, getting reacquainted with his sleep-paralyzed body. First it would be nice to remember what the actual hell had happened.

He looked around, but the blurry objects on the ground didn’t seem like anything until he fumbled blindly for his glasses that he had thankfully managed to put onto their usual spot – the bedside cabinet, next to his phone.

“Oh.”

Now he could see that the objects on the floor were his clothes from yesterday: his rumpled jacket, a shirt he actually liked, his tie and pants. What a mess. Had he done this? Normally he would never disrespect attire like that, and even now, hungover or not, his mom’s voice scolded inside his head, _Yuu-chan, this is not the way to treat your things. You don’t have many of those, especially such nice ones._

The first instinct was to pick them all up, but the headache and the unmistakable nauseating feeling inside his gut told him nope. Maybe in ten minutes. If he’s lucky.

Yuuri lay back onto his pillow and closed his eyes, which were prickling and probably horribly bloodshot. Oh God, how many flutes had he had back then? He could not remember, for the life of him. Was he talking to that little punk, Yuri Plisetsky at the banquet? An image of the runt, his usual bitch face on, sprung up, uninvited, and Yuuri shook his head  to get rid of it – and ended up with a new level of headache.

Great. What time was it? When was his flight? And dear God, why can’t he freaking remember how many of those damn flutes he had downed last night?!

Ooooh, please. Oh no. He can’t have gotten that drunk. Not after the last time. He had _promised_ himself he would _never_ do that again!

It took some effort to turn and lie on his stomach, face buried in his pillow (he could probably die right here, and this would still be better than facing the aftermath of what must have been a terrible, terrible party for him), and this was the moment he heard a faint rustling sound somewhere down south. Only after that his brain decided to finally register the slight discomfort of a foreign presence in his underpants. He reached for it absent-mindedly. His fingers told him it was some piece of thick paper tucked into his boxer briefs by the string. Relatively small and long. He grabbed the end of it that was sticking out and pulled it up close.

Yuuri’s face resurfaced from the comforting depths of his pillow just to see what the heck that was. He stared at the paper blankly for a minute or so, not thinking anything.

_What?.._

He immediately recognized the guy in military uniform proudly posing with his arms crossed in the reddish picture, a fortress in the background and a military ship sailing by. At the top, it read _5000_ and then «БИЛЕТ БАНКА РОССИИ» (he had no idea what it meant). On the bottom, it said «ПЯТЬ ТЫСЯЧ РУБЛЕЙ». The translation of that one he actually knew – had to learn over the few days living in a foreign country.   It said _Five thousand rubles._

_What the?.._

Now fully awake and his hangover magically stepping aside for a while, Yuuri promptly sat up to study the note. It surely felt like the real deal, and smelled like it, too. But what was it doing… _there_? Had he drunkenly confused his wallet with his freaking _underwear_? And why would he need to take out money anyway? He didn’t need to pay for anything at the banquet. Then… why?

The question bugged him all the way through his bathroom routine (the hangover returned as soon as he got up) and accompanied him graciously while he was getting dressed. The fancy suit got folded and then went straight to the suitcase, and Yuuri slipped into his usual tracksuit. He took an extra ten minutes to blow-dry and style his hair – after all, he wouldn’t want the others to think he was a hot mess after last night (that was assuming he had done something after all).

Just as he was about to step out, Celestino knocked politely and surreptitiously looked around the room before focusing on his student.

“Are you alone?”

“Good morning. Yes, why?”

Coach Celestino usually had a friendly, relaxed air about him, but this morning his tense mouth and the narrow squint of his bright eyes gave away his worry and discomfort. Yuuri was not an expert at reading people, but if he were asked, he would say Celestino was feeling embarrassed.

And that question – what was up with that? What a strange morning.

“Oh, nothing, forget it. We’re heading off after breakfast. You have an hour to shove some food in you and say your goodbyes – all the others are still downstairs.”

That comment actually made Yuuri’s head hurt a little more. Say his _what_? He had barely spoken to the other skaters throughout these days, why would they want to talk to him now?

“Er, Coach?”

Yuuri was not sure what he wanted to ask, especially with Celestino’s eyes darting around the room obviously fishing for something.

“What?” the man barked distractedly.

“How did…” He swallowed heavily, mouth suddenly going dry again. “How did last night go? I might have had too much to drink and don’t remember much. At all.”

Celestino winced, as if from a slap, and then averted his gaze. Yuuri’s stomach dropped. _Oh God_ , he thought. _Oh God please no_.

The man took his time clearing his throat and studying Yuuri’s shoes, which was just too cruel – every moment of lingering was absolute torture.

“Go have your breakfast,” Celestino eked out finally and turned around with too much haste. On his way to the elevator, he added hurriedly, “And to hell with the others! Just make it quick.”

Yuuri stared after his coach for a good minute before he could brace himself to move. Hell, now he really wanted to know what had happened, and if Celestino was too polite about it, it was better he find out from a fellow skater than from some cheeky reporter.

The red note was in his pocket, and Yuuri was clutching it thoughtlessly like a keepsake all the way down while he was standing like a statue in the elevator, back painfully straight. He didn’t really feel like eating anything, and a small part of him wanted nothing but to go back up, grab his stuff and hop into a taxi just to call Celestino already from the airport.

But that would be cowardice.

At the restaurant entrance, he almost bailed. His body just froze, refusing to make another step. What if he had trashmouthed someone beyond recovery? Like that Plisetsky kid, the drunken Yuuri could have gone after that brat no problem. His only hope was that if that had been the case, the drunken Yuuri would have probably switched to Japanese as he was still not quite fluent in English, and no one would have noticed a thing. Except that Celestino had been definitely embarrassed about something just now, and he knew only basic Japanese.

_Only one way to find out_ , the more mature Yuuri inside him stepped up, and he almost aggressively pushed the doors open.

He immediately registered the table where the skaters were sitting, amazingly – all together (well, except JJ), which was a rare sight. Their heads turned in perfect synchronicity, making his anxiety level go through the roof – but it was too late now.

“Finally!” Chris sprung up enthusiastically, sending his chair flying behind him, and wasted no time capturing Yuuri into an embrace that would have given an octopus a run for his money. The man nuzzled Yuuri’s ear and the sensitive skin under it. “Yuuri, I am _soooo_ glad that you showed up last night,” Chris purred. “Would have been a total blow without you.”

Yuuri could say absolutely nothing to that and simply stood there, letting the over affectionate Swiss palm him all over the place, much to the amusement of the others.

“Pff, what a moron,” Yuri Plisetsky cringed like the angry gnome he was and turned away, but the girl sitting next to him, whose name Yuuri had forgotten, hissed something in Russian at him and then sent a sweet smile Yuuri’s way.

“Hi, Yuuri! Thanks for yesterday, I had a lot of fun!”

Yuuri was sweating like crazy when he took a free seat next to Chris.

“Hello, everyone.”

He hesitantly looked around, registering their expressions. Out of all the athletes at the table Chris was the one practically beaming with smugness. All right, so the sneaky Swiss definitely knows something. He also noticed the Russian girl’s amused smile, as well as Michele Crispino’s (fifth place) puzzled look the Italian darted from Yuuri to Victor Nikiforov, who seemed to be enthralled with something in his phone and didn’t even notice the new arrival. (Which was to be expected.)

Everyone kept staring, and not just at the skaters’ table – Yuuri had noticed at least a dozen guests sending poorly concealed sklents his way, and a couple of them even got their phones at the ready.

All right, he’d had enough.

“Um, so,” he ventured in a weak voice, “it’s over now, huh.”

“Fuck yeah it’s over,” Plisetsky spit out, burning Yuuri with an accusatory glare. “No more drunken fools ruining everyone’s mood. Shit, I can’t wait for my plane.”

“Oh,” was all Yuuri could manage before he practically squealed and jumped in his seat. “Chris!”

The Swiss didn’t move his hand an inch, which was currently cupping Yuuri’s knee under the table.

“Don’t pay attention to that kid, Yuuri,” Chris murmured, his plump lips forming a very kissable heart in the process. “He’s just angry that you won.”

 “W-won?”

Won _what_?!

“Of course!” the Russian girl beamed. “Our Yurochka is just sore he came up short against your rocking sex appeal. Cut him some slack though, he’s too young.”

His _what_ now?!!!

Yuuri could do little more than blink stupidly at the girl for what seemed like five minutes straight. What helped him snap out of it was Chris’s intrusive hand, which gave his knee a supportive squeeze.

“I hate to admit it, Yuuri, but it looks like you beat even me. Man, what a shame. Promise we’ll do this again next year, all right?”

“What?” Yuuri inhaled sharply, face burning, panic about to take over. “What are you all talking about? Please tell me!”

The Italian’s cute sister (Sara, was it?) sniggered and nudged her friend, that Russian girl.

“Oh my God, Yuuri, quit downplaying it, we all saw the real you! By the way, how did your night end? We all missed it when the two of you snuck out.”

More sniggers ensued, and this time the trolls – because that was textbook trolling, wasn’t it? – turned their attention, for some reason, to Victor. A moment of silence came next, everyone seemingly expecting a comment from the Russian. So was Yuuri.

Heart pounding in his chest and almost jumping out of his throat, he steeled himself to rip his gaze off the tablecloth and look at his idol. So he must have done something to Victor… Or with Victor… And he won something in the process. And holy hell, that 5000-ruble note in his underwear…

“Aw, this one’s pretty cute,” Victor grinned, looking at something in his phone. “I think it’s actually the best one I’ve seen so far. What do you think, Yuuri?”

Then, face chilled and slightly cunning, Victor Nikiforov slid his phone across the table in his direction. Perplexed beyond reason, Yuuri reflexively caught it, coated in a sleek yellow case, just as it was about to reach the edge, and took a glimpse at the screen.

He yelped, suddenly out of breath, and shut his eyes the next second, shuddering.

This was _not_ happening. This was _not_ real.

“Oh, yes,” he heard Chris’s approval right over his ear. “This one’s definitely the best, Victor.”

“Which one is it? Let me see!”

“Give us the phone, guys!”

“Is it the one with the leg?”

“Yes, it’s the one with the leg.”

“Oh my! That one's hot!”

Yuuri, phone still in his hands, opened his eyes just a crack, this time determined there was no other way but to study the abomination.

Was that… him? Funny, but what made him believe the picture was the real deal was the freaking 5000-ruble note that the mischievously smiling Victor (!!!) was shoving into Yuuri’s underwear while he, wearing only that and his tie loose around his neck, was hanging on a pole (!!!!!!) holding onto it with one leg and both arms, the other leg outstretched and looped around Victor’s neck, pulling the enthralled spectator closer. The Yuuri from the picture, slightly flushed but clearly enjoying himself, had his lips curled up in an enticing smile, his back arched, all muscles tense and beautifully outlined.

_Oh. Fuck._

He managed to read the headline (yes, the picture was from some newspaper) just in time before the phone was whisked away from his hands and went travelling, accompanied by _ooooo_ s and _aaaaaah_ s .

**Japanese skater Yuuri Katsuki gets back at winner Victor Nikiforov by seducing him**

The first lines of the article read, “The post-GPF banquet, a traditionally insipid and uneventful…”

 

The world shook a little. He felt light-headed and grabbed the edge of the table with both hands, clutching it hard to get a hold of reality.

“Hey, Yuuri,” Chris’s hand travelled from his thigh (when had that happened, by the way?) to his shoulder. “Are you all right? I’m sorry if we’re teasing too much. Guys, tone it down a little, he’s embarrassed.”

“Oh yeah?” Plisetsky snorted into his tea. “He should have been embarrassed last night, when he outed Victor to the whole world with his fucking freak show. Jeez, what a mess.”

Yuuri shuddered, an electric bolt running down his spine, and cast a quick glance at Victor. The Russian was not paying any attention to the bustle around his phone. He was sitting in a relaxed pose, his chin propped on his right fist, studying Yuuri with a pensive gaze.

“Yuuri,” he heard Chris placate, “it’s okay, he’s not being serious. Relax, you’re so tense.”

“What do you mean by ‘outed’?” somewhere in the background, the Russian girl (Mila; her name was Mila) attacked Plisetsky rigorously. “Don’t make Vitya sound like some teenage closet case, в отличие от _некоторых_.” (translation: unlike _someone_ here)

“Whaaaat?!!”

“Guys, please be quiet! Everyone’s looking!”

“You shut the _fuck_ up, Crispino! This is none of your business!”

“Hey! Don’t be rude to my brother, you little punk!”

Yuuri had had enough. He stood up, catching a sympathizing look from Chris, and bowed, body rigid, eyes welling up with tears he could not show them. The inside of him felt dead.

“Everyone. I am sorry to have caused you all so much trouble. Please forgive me.”

“Yuuri!” he heard at least five voices behind his back as he was heading for the exit.

He kept it perfectly cool right until the moment the door of his room shut behind him. Then he gasped desperately, suddenly out of air, and clasped his palms over his wet eyes. He was suffocating, and everything was over.

Somehow he managed to rip himself off the door and relocated to the floor where he sat with his back pressed to the side of the bed and the blanket over his head and shoulders. Tears rolled down his face, but it didn’t bring the usual relief. He wanted to really cry like he had done yesterday after the finals – to let it all out and then compose himself, stomach it, discover a way to conceal his pain. But this was different.

He had destroyed not only his reputation last night. His stupid drunken self practically _obliterated_ his idol. At one point, back in Detroit, he had been religiously reading everything he could find on the development of the LGBT witch hunt in Russia, and a part of him had been anxious to be going to this country for that particular reason. But not just because of the Sochi tournament he had been bound to compete in.

He had been worried for Chris, the overly tactile, in-your-face Christophe Giacometti. And also about Victor. The thought had never crossed his mind until this moment, but there was no escaping it now.

He didn't want any people he admired to suffer for being who they were. But now he had done more damage to them than they could have ever done to themselves.

He heard the door open hesitantly but didn’t care to turn around. Celestino had a big enough heart, he could let his poor idiot student sulk for ten more minutes.

Then he felt another body settle down next to him, and his heart did a somersault when out of the corner of his eye he caught silver.

“Wh-…”

Victor practically blinded him with his signature smile, though his eyes remained just as pensive as downstairs, at the table.

“Yuuri,” he started in a kind, soothing tone, making Yuuri’s heart ache even more, “don’t sweat it. Whatever you’re thinking right now, I promise it’s not that bad.”

Yuuri just stared. He wanted to say so much, but his mind went horrifyingly blank – and all he could do was keep crying and looking at that smile.

_I’ve ruined you._

“Yuuri.”

Victor shuffled even closer, so that their shoulders were now touching, and took Yuuri’s hand in his, interlacing their fingers. The warmth and intimacy of the gesture filled Yuuri with deep-rooted terror, and he winced, almost recoiling – but Victor’s hand was firm and unyielding.

“Stop. Listen to me. Are you listening?”

Yuuri dropped his gaze, now looking at his folded legs and the outline of his sharp knees covered with the black fabric of his sweatpants.

“I’m sorry, Victor. I honestly don’t remember anything from last night. This has happened before. When I get really drunk… I lose it.”

“Oh?” Victor sounded amused. “Do you want me to tell you?”

Yuuri froze, suddenly overwhelmed with emotions. Did he want to know? If the two drunken nights out with Phichit were anything to go by, he had been a spectacular and fearless weapon of mass destruction with extra sluttiness on top. (He had had to beg Phichit to not post the pictures online both times and ended up buying him lunch for a whole month after.)

“Well I’m going to tell you anyway,” Victor shrugged noncommittally and gave Yuuri’s hand a little squeeze. “You brought fun to one of the most boring parties I’ve ever been to. You made Yurka loosen up a little, which is great, he really needs to learn to chill. You gave a great show together with Chris and beat him with his own weapon – sex appeal.”

Yuuri gave a start at that, but Victor didn’t care to notice. His eyes were now firing up with excitement, and somehow he was even closer now.

“You won against them both, proving to everyone that you’re good at winning. And most importantly – you gave me the time of my life.”

Yuuri gasped at something he saw in Victor’s face when he said this, and his first instinct was to crawl away, but there was nowhere to run, he was already in the corner between the bed and the bedside cabinet. Anxiety rushed in, but even though the whole inside of him was trembling and he felt suddenly cold, he couldn’t bear to look away. Victor’s hand released his own just to land softly on his shoulder and graze his open neck.

“And then,” Victor’s voice dropped to a husky whisper, his eyes effectively captivating Yuuri’s, “do you remember anything from what happened after?”

Slowly, as if in a molasses-thick dream, Yuuri shook his head.

Victor let out a guttural chuckle and shifted slightly to unzip his sports jacket halfway down. He raised his head to show his neck – and Yuuri died. Or at least it felt so to him.

“Wh-wh-what are?..”

He counted three big ones and several smaller ones all over Victor’s neck. One of the bruises, the color of threatening purple, even had some traces of teeth.

Yuuri didn’t have the energy to gasp or cry or apologize or do anything, really – so he simply sat there, eyeing his work. He could definitely believe it had been him. In fact, he knew it had been him.

Victor dismissed his mortified expression with a proud chuckle, “I actually had to restrain myself, and trust me, it was hard. So I ended up carrying you to your room, which was the single bad part of that night because I had to suffer through your coach’s stink eye as he was handing me your key. But it’s understandable: I believe he was afraid I’d take advantage of you.”

Yuuri gulped audibly, his mind going into overdrive as the unwanted images started flooding in. Victor carrying him – _carrying_ him to his room. Coach Celestino seeing all that. (Now the question he had greeted Yuuri with earlier today made total sense.) The hickeys… At which point had they appeared?

“Uh… V-victor, I’m embarrassed to ask, but…”

“No, we didn’t,” Victor shook his head, a sorrowful smile on his face. “I sensed you were not being yourself, and it would have been horrible of me to proceed. But I wanted to.”

He bit his lip and suddenly looked at Yuuri with such naked hunger that an overwhelming warmth filled Yuuri’s lower abdomen, trailing down to send prickles of excitement into his thighs and weakening his knees. If he were standing, he wasn’t sure he would be very successful at it.

Victor _wanted_ to. This demigod of skating wanted _him_.

“But… Please forgive me for intruding, but wouldn’t you get in trouble for the… for the pictures and all that? I mean, your country…”

“My country doesn’t have many heroes these days,” Victor cut him off with sudden steel in his voice. He softened it with a smile the next moment, saying, “I won’t get in too much trouble. But other people from my community are facing such challenges every day. If I could give them a ray of hope by rubbing the state the wrong way once in a while and getting away with it, I’d see it as an honor. I mean, of course there will be a scandal. But I’ll shake it off in a while. I’m actually more worried about you.”

Yuuri pressed his hands between his knees shyly, “Yes, I’m not that indispensable.”

Victor’s expression turned grave for a moment.

“You’re treading on thin ice, and I’m sorry to admit that I only realized it when it was too late. But don’t worry too much,” he gave him a moderate smile, “I devised a plan this morning, for you and me both.”

With this, Victor was in his space again, and this time his hand was cupping Yuuri’s cheek, still wet from the tears. Yuuri’s heart skipped a beat or two because hot _damn_ , could that man stop being so irresistible, if only for a second?

“Yuuri. Do you think you skate to your full potential with your coach?”

He had expected anything – anything, really, from “let’s elope to Canada and beat JJ on his own turf” to “the plan is you and I strip now, you seem to be sober enough”. His mind short-circuited, but Victor didn’t seem to be actually waiting for an answer.

“I know you don’t. I’ve seen it. Trust me, Yuuri, with the right guidance you can do so much better!”

The movement of his lips was awfully distracting, and Yuuri found himself forgetting to react, but it looked like Victor had already planned everything out.

“This is what you do now. You go back to the U.S., end things with Celestino, saying you want to shake things up the next season. Pack your bags and go home for a while. Then you wait.”

Yuuri blinked several times and shook his head to make his brain start processing the information.

“Wait for what?”

Victor only smiled – a bittersweet, genuine smile with a trace of tragedy looming somewhere on its edges – and leaned in slowly. The way their lips touched was very chaste, all things considered, but it was enough to send a hot wave from Yuuri’s face and right down into his crotch, where things started happening.

Yuuri could feel Victor’s smile over his own lips, as if he was enjoying the reaction he was getting, and that somehow relaxed him, gave him permission to loosen up as well. With a sudden burst of bravery, Yuuri cupped the nape of Victor’s neck and pulled him closer to feel the friction of their bodies. Victor chuckled and deepened the kiss.

They could have gone farther – one of Victor’s hands was already stroking Yuuri’s hip – but that was when Celestino decided to check in on his student and ruined the moment, the loud Italian he was.

“ _Jesus_ Christ!” Yuuri heard behind his back just as he had geared himself up to touch Victor below the waistline. “The two of you! Yuuri, charge your freaking phone, I’ve been trying to reach you for ages! Our taxi’s waiting!”

Yuuri couldn’t bring himself to look up at his coach or even move for that matter, so he ended up simply sitting where he was, sandwiched between the bed and Victor’s body, and hoping that Celestino would just leave now.

“Oooh,” Victor fake-pouted, hands still where they were, “Celestino, can’t we have ten more minutes?”

“You had the whole night,” the man’s voice sounded loaded with some message Yuuri failed to catch (probably because Victor’s left hand decided it was done with Yuuri’s hip and was slowly but surely going south). “Now Yuuri, I’ll be waiting downstairs.”

The door closed, and Yuuri could discern footsteps in the hallway. Victor giggled like a happy child whose mischief was a success, after which he stood up effortlessly and gracefully, as usual, and offered Yuuri a hand. When Yuuri rose as well (just as he'd expected, his knees felt so weak he could barely straighten up), Victor laced his arms around Yuuri’s waist and pulled him gently close, as close as possible.

“Ah, the drama. I love the beginning of our story, Yuuri, don’t you?”

“Um, Victor.” Yuuri had to rearrange his glasses, which had been teetering on the edge of his nose for some time now. “What should I be waiting for at home?”

Victor sighed heavily, a story behind that sound. Yuuri found himself thinking that he wanted to hear that story someday.

“I have to take care of some things back at home first. Please wait for me, all right? You have inspired me, Yuuri, I’m being very serious right now. The way you acted last night, it wasn’t just some crazy part of you that you should be embarrassed of and hide from everyone. It was a notable, enticing, sexy part of you that craves recognition – and frankly, deserves it. Do you understand?”

“N-no,” Yuuri whispered, feeling so small and stupid all of a sudden.

Victor gave him a warm smile and moved one of his arms to delve into Yuuri’s hair.

“I’m going to take the next year off and dedicate it to bringing out the sexy, confident Yuuri for the whole world to see. Since I left you last night, I have been brimming with inspiration, and I already have a few ideas in mind.”

“About what?” Yuuri asked, mouth suddenly dry, because his heart knew already.

Before answering, Victor pulled him in for another kiss, this one brain-meltingly mellow.

“Your program, of course,” he finally said, their lips inches away and the phrase sounding like the biggest secret in the world. “After what we have achieved together, nobody will dare do anything to us either in your country or mine. They might loathe us, but we will have become invincible, too great for their petty ire. We will conquer this world. Together. Do you want that, Yuuri?”

“Yes,” Yuuri blurted out hoarsely, a competitor’s fire in his gut suddenly aflame but his heart, his weak, frail heart trembling like an aspen leaf inside his chest, creating a juicy hot-cold ensemble inside him. “Let’s do it.”

Victor nodded, his eyes gleaming with pride and excitement. He took another moment to kiss Yuuri again – a deliberate, passionate kiss that did make Yuuri’s knees grow weak and Victor had to hold him up with a laugh, - before it was time to go.

Downstairs, a swarm of reporters pounced on them both (Victor had insisted on walking him to the car) as soon as they exited the elevator, but Victor didn’t seem too stressed over it, unlike Yuuri. He waited for everyone to calm down, face and posture absolutely relaxed, one arm around Yuuri’s shoulders, the other holding the handle of Yuuri’s suitcase (he had insisted on that too). Then he smiled with his usual disarming cheer.

“What can I say? You never know where you can find inspiration. No further comment, please let us through.”

He didn’t make a show kissing him again outside the taxi, settling on giving him a really tight hug. Just as Victor was about to detach himself before Celestino bored a hole in them both, Yuuri suddenly remembered.

“Wait. The money!” He fumbled in his pockets and fished out the note which had initiated the worst – and frankly, the most exciting – day of his life. “Here. It’s yours.”

Victor frowned, “No, I remember shoving it into one sexy pole dancer’s undies last night, it’s not mine anymore.”

Celestino, already sitting in the back seat, cleared his throat. “Yuuri.”

Yuuri looked at the crumpled note in his hands, confused but, strangely, not the slightest bit embarrassed anymore. “But what shall I do with it?”

“Keep it,” Victor suggested with a light shrug, “as a token of my promise.” He pulled Yuuri in for another hug and whispered into his ear, tickling it with his warm breath, “Please wait for me.”

“I will,” Yuuri whispered back.

The cameras in the distance kept flashing even after Yuuri shut the door and the taxi took off, leaving Victor behind. Yuuri watched him as long as he could.

 

“Yuuri!”

Mari knocked on the door, but then decided to blow off manners and opened it wide to find her brother still in bed, fumbling for his glasses.

“What is it, nee-chan?”

She rolled her eyes, because honestly, this was the most ridiculous situation she had ever come across.

“Firstly, it’s snowing outside, so get your ass out of bed now and go grab a shovel. Secondly, you’d better take down those posters before you do it because thirdly, the blond dude you banged at that banquet is downstairs asking for food, a bath and you, possibly all in one go. Now move it!”

The door shut behind her, and Yuuri, now fully awake, could hear her angrily stomping away. He spent several long moments in his bed, listening for his racing heartbeat and feeling his cheeks steadily growing hot. Then he stole a quick glance at his favorite Victor – lounging in a fancy armchair like a king.

_We will conquer this world. Together._

A shudder of excitement ran down his whole body. He then looked at the red note with the military guy standing proudly in front of a fortress and the number 5000 at the top. The note hung on the wall, framed – a beautiful reminder of a beautiful day.

_Do you want that, Yuuri?_

He got up. Took a deep breath. Then reached for his t-shirt.

_Let’s do it._

**Author's Note:**

> Guys, if any of you are willing to help me out with proof-reading now or in the future, please contact me [on Twitter](https://twitter.com/viaorel).  
> I'm extremely thankful to [neurotrophicfactors](http://archiveofourown.org/users/neurotrophicfactors/pseuds/neurotrophicfactors) for this [art](http://neurotrophicfactors.tumblr.com/post/155060433554/read-this-story-and-it-made-me-laugh-a-lot-so-i)!


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